


Learning to Live

by CookieBlitz



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Depressing, Gen, Worry, idk how tags work here gomen;;;, lots of that i don't even try and stick in character sorry, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:24:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieBlitz/pseuds/CookieBlitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble about dealing with death when you don't know how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Live

**Author's Note:**

> My grandmother passed away recently, so I wrote this as a sort of coping mechanism?? There was no planning that went into this, so it's probably sprawled everywhere across the floor unaware of how annoying it is, but, as I said, it's just a quick thing to try and release some of that emotional turmoil. 
> 
> The main idea originated from wondering how Dad copes after Nanna's death.
> 
> Apologies in advance if anything's confusing, this is the natural way I write.

The house is quite when you come home.

You know your dad isn't home yet, that he won't be for several hours and that you should preoccupy your time with homework and pestering Dave, but knowing that it's _today_  doesn't help ease your fears, doesn't erase the tiny quiver of fear. You're worried, and it's a devilish snake that slithers its way into your gut and coils itself round your intestines, strangling the organ should you dare try and prod it away. Sure, you've dealt with the invasion countless times before, but you're never quite prepared when it comes knocking and rears its ugly head, spitting venom and a cold, pitying fear that your world's about to end, that something's going to happen _again_  and you'll be left alone just like you were those many years ago, when you played the game and you lost him, he was gone, you couldn't find him anywhere and you're sick to your stomach with worry, probably raising an ulcer with how much you're sweating. You gently remind yourself that _it's not the same anymore, it's not like back then, there's no game to fuck with your head, you're past it now, **nothing's going to happen anymore**_.

The snacks you grabbed from the pantry feel like lead in your hands, your feet bricks as you trudge up the stairs. You drop your bag on the floor and it wilts without the support, no backbone despite the pile of textbooks stockpiled in there, a sludge mess of foreign words and concepts and distant ideas, dreams where you can laugh with your family, no fears, and nightmares where you don't have to face off against the burnt black train wreck of death night and night again. You nearly laugh at the innocence of your classmates, bruised eyelids hanging heavy and sore cheeks pulled back into a false mask of cheeriness, a laugh worn bitter with overuse and growing rusty from faking.

You barely register the dull _ding_  as pesterchum alerts you of a new message.

It's Jade. Jade worrying and fussing and asking uneasily how are you? Then Rose is there and so is Dave, she's dragged him on too, and before you know it they've all coerced you into joining the memo board they've set up and why do you let them do this to you every year. The pure awkward radiating off the piece of cyberspace punches you in the gut, stirs up your vicious, dormant guest before it resettles and you realize _they're scared you going to do something if he does_. It's...not a mistaken preconception, but it doesn't soothe your nerves none, just rakes on them like a nails on chalkboard, plucks at the finest pinpricks of worry that _they're probably right_  and you think you might be going insane, just a slow unwinding of your sanity as you question how long you'll be able to keep this up, this pretense that you're an average boy with normal teenage anxieties like public speaking and dating and this time you don't think you're going to laugh you think you're about ready to puke, upend all these abnormalities, all this queerness that sets you apart from your peers, you're ready to give up, you just want to be _normal_.

A rattling sigh racks your lungs, and you cough it out, exhale everything that you keep pent up inside, that you hide from your friends and from him, your dad, cause he would flip if he knew how messed up you were on the inside of your cranial cage, just this addled mush of emotions and confusion and _holy shit what_  and you can't explain yourself, you won't give yourself the dignity of trying. You curl in, draw in tight and try to stop all of your messed up existence from plaguing the world, swallow back against the lunge that the monster within you takes, desperate for escape and to kill those you love, and you don't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing how hard you're trying to fight it but you think it already knows.

You force yourself to face the screen, already queasy, and skim what they're talking about. They know you don't really pay attention on this day, you're too ill to expend that much energy, and so you're not surprised when you find that they're talking about you like you aren't the cause for the reunion and completely and wholly there. _That's a lie_  your mind spits back at you, fanged overbite glinting in your mind's eye and smiling wicked sharp, and you shudder at the cold chill that electrocutes your spine.

There's a thump at the door and your heart stops midbeat, you know who it is and you're not sure whether it's a good sign or not.

You wait it out, coward that you are, and minutes draw out until they multiply to five, ten, now you're just worrying yourself sick so you dare to sneak outside. Nothing's been pushed over, no trail of destruction and pure woe so you slide down the stairs, slinking down a step at a time before the bustling that you've grown to hate curls into your ears and you're not quite sure what expresion to wear, you've been left exposed and defenseless in the wake of confronting him, given no time to prepare, before you steel yourself and determine that if you're a wreck he probably is as well and there's no point in partying alone with misery when there's proper company to be had.

His back is to you, apron tied neat and proud round his middle and neck, crisp bows pulled taut, the brim of his hat pulled down low, shadowing his face, and you're afraid of what you might face if he turns around.

He's oblivious to you and you don't mind, just watch him work, diligently whipping something here and fluffing there and before you can cower away he's facing you with the icing bowl tucked into the crook of his arm and spatula held in hand, and he looks surprised like you're a visiting friend who forgot to mention they were stopping by, before his face melts into a smile, crinkling his eyes with delicate crow's feet and a flash of white-but-yellowing-with-age teeth.

You're across the room and wrapping your arms around him before you're conscious of the action.

"I'm sorry, Dad", you whisper. You can't recall how many times those words have passed your lips.

"It's alright, son", he shushes back.

"Your nanna lived a lovely life."

**Author's Note:**

> If you notice any mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them, I didn't look this over before I posted.


End file.
